A Dog's Life
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: A dog steps in where two stubborn, angry, hurt brothers won't. And ends up being needed more than any of them imagined.


_First appeared in_ Hunting Trips 7 _(2015), from Neon Rainbow Press_

 **A Dog's Life**  
K Hanna Korossy

"That was fun," Dean declared as he slammed the Impala's trunk, hefting the weapons bag over his shoulder. He wasn't being sarcastic, for once; it had felt good finishing a straightforward hunt, back in stride with Sam. He circled around to the front of the car to join his brother. "But the best part? That one that practically dislocated its neck looking up at you, right before you chopped off its—"

Sam wasn't listening. Sam was probably completely oblivious to his presence, actually, busy as he was petting and baby-talking the grey dog sitting in front of their room door.

That was until the dog spotted Dean. With a full-body shiver of happiness, it slipped easily out of Sam's hold and bounded over to Dean, dancing around his legs.

"You're back, huh?" Dean gave the dog a cursory rub of the head and then stepped around it—or tried to—to get to the door.

The dog immediately darted around Dean's feet, forcing him to stop before he tripped. It butted its head against Dean's hand, then gave it a swipe with its tongue.

"Dude, gross," Dean admonished, then frowned up at his brother. "Hey, call off your buddy before he licks me to death."

" _My_ buddy?" Sam was smirking at him, the jerk. "You do notice she doesn't even care if I'm here as long as you're around, right? No idea _why_ , considering that you pretty much ignore her…"

"Hey, all girls dig me." Dean squinted at him. "Girl, right?"

"Yes, Dean, a girl," Sam said over-patiently. "Don't tell me you didn't notice the—"

"Okay! Thank you, Jack Hanna, for oversharing as usual." He redirected his gaze to the dog that, he had to admit, watched him with what looked an awful lot like adoration. "Sorry, sweetheart," Dean said, surprised he actually meant it as he gave her another pat, "duty calls. Why don't you go find a nice boy dog to play with." Then he slipped past her before she could head him off again, stepping up to the door. Even as he unlocked it, he tried to block out the sound of her quiet whimper for attention.

"Aw, Dean," Sam's teasing voice joined the dog's, "she misses you."

"Shut up, bitch," Dean growled back, then glanced back. "Both of you."

Canine segue aside, inside it was business as usual. Dean set the duffel on his bed, went and grabbed a towel from the bathroom, then started to lay out the used weaponry on it: ichor-stained machetes, a fired shotgun, and one very gooey knife. Tossing his jacket onto the end of the bed, he dragged a chair near with his foot and settled in for post-hunt weapon cleaning.

Sam, meanwhile, had dug out a couple of granola bars and water bottles, whistling a heads-up to Dean before he tossed him one of each, then sat down to eat and fire up his laptop. He would help with the cleaning if asked, Dean knew that, but there was something calming about the work, familiar and comforting in the ritual he'd learned and performed so many years with his dad, and Dean didn't mind doing it alone. Besides, he'd trade the work for research and writing up the details of the hunt any day.

Outside the room, there was a sad bark.

Dean's mouth ticked downward, but he focused on his work.

Snuffling, then a brief howl. Damned if it didn't sound lonely.

"Maybe we should call Animal Control," Sam suggested from across the room.

"Yeah, lock her up and maybe kill her if nobody claims her?" Dean was already shaking his head. "Don't do her any favors."

A muted huff, then there was a soft rattle like a body settling against the door. No doubt they'd find her guarding the room as they had both days they'd been there. Dean glowered at the blade he was cleaning and wiped harder.

Sam chucked the bar wrapper and clicked his laptop shut. "Think I'm gonna go out for a while. I'll come back with food, all right?"

Dean's mood curdled for real, and he looked up to pin Sam with his gaze. " _A while_? Dude, why don't you cut the act and just admit you're going out with your BFF Ruby? Give us both some credit."

Sam's expression shifted, newly unfamiliar since Dean's return from Hell. He still couldn't read it, but he knew he didn't like it. "Yeah, because that worked so great before." Sam's hands were on his hips, and if Dean hadn't been so fed up with all this, he might have laughed at the petulant princess pose. "Look, man, I have the right to be with whoever I want, okay? I'm just trying not to rub it in your face."

"Yeah, bang-up job you're doing of that," Dean muttered, giving the machete a final, hard swipe. He tossed it down with less care than usual and met his brother's glare in kind.

"Seriously?" Sam threw up his hands, let them fall. "We're gonna do this again?"

"You tell me, Sam. You're the one who's hanging out with a demon, and when has that ever turned out well for us? Remember Meg? Ava? _Yellow Eyes?"_

Sam's face was pinched. "She's helping me work on a way to take down _Lilith_ , Dean. She is _literally_ the lesser of two evils. And I haven't exactly seen you and the angels coming up with any plans to do that."

Dean pushed to his feet. "Because we need to do this right, Sam, not just easy and quick." He tilted his head. "You ever think her way might be a little _too_ convenient? If we're doing clichés, how about this one: you play with fire, you're gonna get burned."

Sam was already shaking his head. "Been there, done that, man." He waved a hand at Dean. "See, this is why I don't tell you what I'm doing. You're so sure you're right, you won't even consider that maybe I've got a point, too."

"I _am_ right!" Dean snapped.

Sam's jaw clenched, which always meant Dean wouldn't like what he was about to say. And the conversation so far had been such fun. "You know what, maybe if I'm so wrong and _tainted_ , I should just leave, go do my own thing."

"Maybe you should," Dean shot back, because his mouth wasn't always connected to his brain, either.

Sam's fire seemed to extinguish at that. He gave Dean a weary, wounded look. And then he was stalking out the door, banging it shut behind him.

Dean's mouth worked a moment, trying to form the words to take back what he'd just said. Maybe Sam should _leave?_ Like Dean had ever wanted that, even at their most unhappiest? He hated what his little brother was doing, what trouble he was getting into, but at least if he was there, Dean could look out for him. And, God help him, any kind of messed-up Sam was immeasurably better than no Sam at all.

He didn't honestly think Sam really wanted to leave, either. The last time they'd been apart, Dean had been dead, and he had some idea of the toll that had taken on Sam. His brother's fierce, shiny-eyed embrace when Dean returned had said more than any of his brother's halting admissions ever could.

Dean swore and spun to the door, yanking it open.

The parking lot was empty, no tall scarecrow to be seen in any direction. Dean cursed again, stepping outside to get a better look. But no, Sam had hightailed it and fast. Must've really been in a rush to get away from him.

It was only when Dean was shutting the door that he realized the stupid mutt was gone, too.

It shouldn't have hurt, not when his brother had just walked out on him again, this time with Dean's blessing.

But, he slumped despondently back into the chair, it did.

00000

He didn't walk; he ran.

It was a childish reaction, Sam knew. He was mature enough to recognize the same patterns from when he was a teen and endlessly frustrated with Dad. But sometimes Dean just pushed those Dad buttons _so hard_ , always knowing better than Sam, telling him what to do, and before he knew it, he was storming off again.

He finally stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, breathing hard and shaking his sweat-damp hair out of his face. Truth was, his tendency to take off was less about anger and more about not wanting to say something he couldn't take back. Or hear something he couldn't unhear. As a kid, he couldn't afford to completely alienate his father because he literally had no other place to go. The one time he had, his dad told him if he left he should never come back. He had options now as an adult, but he _wanted_ to be with Dean. Every time he closed his eyes, he still saw his brother being ripped apart by the hellhound, heard Dean's screams. The four months alone had been his own version of Hell, and to have Dean back was a daily gift. So to threaten to leave, to be told by his miraculously returned brother that maybe he should leave...

 _Crap._ Sam rubbed at his face again, this time against the threatening prickle of his eyes. This was stupid; he wasn't a kid anymore. And Dean was back, safe in their room. It had felt good, being on a simple hunt again, working in sync. He knew Dean had felt it, too. So they'd said some stupid things after; he also knew Dean hadn't meant it, any more than Sam had. The Ruby thing was...okay, Sam himself wasn't sure what that was, and avoided examining it too closely. But it wasn't a reason to part ways. Not when the thought of being alone again sent a bolt of panic through Sam.

He looked up, studying the city around him. Not the best area of town, he realized, between the graffiti and the trash. He wasn't sure how far he'd come, but it had been pretty much a straight shot. He turned around and began the trek back.

Dean just didn't understand, and that wasn't his fault. Hell had messed him up, made him tentative, weaker. Maybe Sam hadn't been able to save him from Hell like he'd promised, but he could step up to the plate now, be there for his brother in the aftermath. Ruby's help was necessary, Dean would see that eventually, would see that it was all for _him_ , that Sam was just taking the reins for a while to let his brother recover. Of course, not running away when Dean snapped at him would be a good start in making his case, Sam thought ruefully.

He would be the bigger man and apologize. And Dean would pick him up something healthy for dinner, and it would be all good. Maybe they'd take a break that night, too, watch a movie or something and reconnect. Ruby could wait a day. He'd call her and—

"Hey. You."

Sam glanced up, eyes narrowing at the sight of the two muscled guys closing on him from the right. Everything about them radiated _street tough,_ from the excess of denim and leather, to the chains that hung from their belts and the tattoos that snaked under their sleeves and collars. Just what he needed.

Sam sighed, adjusting his pose to be ready, just in case. "Yeah?"

"You lost?" It was the slightly smaller of the two guys who kept talking, while his friend loomed menacingly beside him.

He was in gangland: terrific. Sam huffed. "Nope, I'm good. Just ran a little farther than I realized."

The two traded a look and a snide grin that didn't bode well. Figured they'd catch him completely unarmed.

Sam pulled himself up to his full height but kept his body loose, ready. "My brother's waiting for me back at our place, so—"

"He's gonna have to wait a little longer. Someone comes into our territory, we like to give him a proper welcome."

Sam gave them a tight smile. "You don't have to do this," he said, and prepared to run. He was fast, and the two were bulky and not especially long-legged. He could take them, but he'd rather not if he didn't have to.

That was when he sensed the presence behind him.

Without hesitation, Sam whirled, already throwing a punch with the momentum of his turn. It was enough to take out the guy who was sneaking up behind him.

But not his two buddies.

Maybe, possibly, two years ago he could've taken on five guys and come out on top. But that was before a year of funneling all his energy into trying to break Dean's deal, followed by four months of knowing he'd failed and not giving a crap about anything, least of all fitness. He'd gotten better since then—Dean _made_ him get better—but he was still a little rusty, preoccupied more with building his psychic abilities than his physical ones. It was good enough for hunts, but regular hand-to-hand?

He fought dirty, pulling out some of Dean's moves. Groins, eyes, throats were all targets, broke a nose, probably ruined a guy's knee for life. At one point there were at least three bodies on the ground.

But the other two—crap, three now—hadn't been sitting around meanwhile waiting for their turn. Even as Sam laid out one guy, another grabbed his arm. A punch came out of nowhere, then something harder hit his shoulder, threatening to send him to his knees.

Sam roared, forcing himself to stay upright. If he went down, he wouldn't get back up again, and that wasn't gonna happen. He lashed out with one leg, an elbow, trying to shake off the guy holding him, knock away the others...

There were too many. You couldn't map out your moves when several came at the same time from all directions. The hands that held him whipped him around, disorienting him further. A violent shove to his back added to his momentum.

His head flung back from the thrust, and that was probably all that saved him from cracking his skull on the brick wall. His shoulder and hip took the brunt of impact instead, crunching into unyielding brick.

He probably screamed. Didn't know that or anything else besides the fire that shorted out his nerves, his vision, any rational thought or shred of control. The knives of pain just kept stabbing, tearing.

He was down. There was yelling, running footsteps. He retched on warm fluid that gurgled up his throat, turning instinctively to spit it out.

The pain was relentless, searing his shoulder and down his arm, hot and swollen at his hip. Every time he moved, his vision grayed and small hurt noises somehow made it past his clenched teeth. _Stupid_ , _vulnerable_ , _weak_ chased through his mind. Lost in the hurt, he didn't even realize when it got quiet.

Something warm and wet lapped at the tear tracks on his cheeks.

Or maybe the rain, because when Sam opened his eyes, water dripped into them. He squinted, grunting when his attempt to turn his head away only spiked his shoulder pain higher. Gray shag. No, gray dog, whining in her throat as Sam finally met her eyes.

"Figures...you'd be th'one...come after me," Sam huffed, hand tangling in the wet fur. "Yeah, okay," he conceded when the dog barked and nudged him with its—her—nose. "I'm coming. I'm..."

He'd wrapped his good arm around the dog's neck, using the large, solid figure as leverage to lift himself up. His upper body made it up, bad shoulder screaming at him. Dislocated: he was sure of it.

Then his hip twisted and it all fell apart. The dog whined with him as Sam fell back, cursing and curling against the fire in his flank. He balled his fist in dog fur and tried hard not to pass out.

Frantic licking of his face cleared his head a little. Maybe he'd lost some time; Sam didn't know or care. He wasn't going anywhere, hip dislocated or broken or sprained: didn't matter, it wouldn't hold his weight. And of course since he was mad at Dean, he'd stalked off without his phone or any way of calling for help. Punishing himself with his petulance as well as his brother, as usual.

The dog nudged him again, then apparently decided Sam wasn't getting up and barked twice, pulling back.

"Yeah, don' think I c'n...play righ' now." Crap, his words were slurring. The rain had saturated his clothes, and although it wasn't that cold, he was starting to shiver, slip into shock. Sam blearily looked around, finding nothing nearby on which to at least prop his feet. If his hip would even tolerate that. "Don' wanna play...Lassie, d'you?" he murmured to the dog.

She barked again at him, then turned and ran away. Sam was pretty sure she was going in the opposite direction of the motel.

"Din' think so," he muttered. And laughed bitterly to himself. "Jerk. So much f'r...savin'..."

00000

His pity-party ended about when the rain started up outside.

For a minute, Dean watched it, tight-lipped, debating. Sam jogged in the rain sometimes, and God knows they'd often hunted wet, no big deal. But Sam's phone was still here on his bed, and they were both wiped from the hunt. He'd been surprised Sam had still planned to go meet Ruby. Maybe they were already out somewhere doing their thing. Or maybe Sam had found a coffee shop to snuggle into, drinking one of his frou-frou drinks and counting the ways Dean was being a little bitch.

He swore, running a hand through his hair. No, Sam's wallet was here, too. And his jacket. It wasn't that cold outside, but in the rain it would get uncomfortable. Unless he was keeping warm someplace with Ruby.

Man, it had felt so good earlier that day, too. The hunt had gone well, the two of them falling into step as if Dean hadn't spent decades in Hell and Sam hadn't been flirting with the dark side. He could see Sam was into it as well, the spark finally back in his little brother's eyes. And then...

Dean swore again, swerving away from the window. A stupid fight with a stupid little brother who was stupidly playing with fire. And then even stupider words. Dean wasn't Dad; he wasn't going to chase Sam away just out of stupid pride.

Except he kinda had.

Dean sighed, grabbing his jacket and keys. Wherever Sam was, either trying to outrun his demons or hanging out with his demon or just waiting out the shower someplace, Dean would find him. Swallow his pride and his pathetic co-dependence issues and apologize. Not for hating Ruby, because no power on earth could force him to make nice with that black-eyed skank. But at least for telling Sam they should split up and escalating things to the point of driving him away. Because Dean knew what a curse that was, being on your own. Neither of them ever fared well solo.

And apparently both of you having died meant now you sometimes had these chick conversations about loss and hurt feelings and how you still, you know, didn't hate each other. It almost made being alone look good.

 _Not even close_ , the traitorously honest part of his mind shot back.

Dean rolled his eyes, slipping his Colt into his jeans out of long habit and, after a moment, pocketing Sam's phone, too, and grabbing his jacket. In case the kid didn't want to come home yet, Dean would make sure he knew he was welcome when he did.

Dean stepped out the door, pulling it shut behind him. Then nearly stumbled over the mutt that came streaking out of nowhere, barking up a storm and jumping on him.

"Whoa, hey! Muddy paws, dude." He tried to shove wet dog away without getting too much wet dog on him. "Not now, girl, I gotta go." He pushed her down again, only to fall back a half-step as the dog jumped up on him once more, barking and grabbing his shirt in her teeth and pulling.

"What the—? Cut it out, Cujo!" He tried to free his shirt without it actually tearing. "Down, girl! I don't have time for this now." He gritted his teeth; he really didn't want to hit a dog, but it didn't seem like she was going to let him go. "Stop it, you mutt! I gotta go find Sam, and you're—"

The dog went even crazier, a mixture of growls and barks now, tugs followed by getting down and whining, looking away and back at him. Almost like...

Dean narrowed his eyes. "You're not... Seriously? You know where Sam is?"

More barking. The dog hadn't bitten him in all its aggression, never had done more than fight for his attention. And it definitely seemed to want him to follow it, taking a step forward and looking back.

Dean huffed out a breath. Well, he'd done crazier things. And it was as good a place as any to start looking for Sam. "Yeah, okay. Let's go find Timmy in the well."

The dog yipped and bounded off, checking every few dozen feet to make sure Dean was hurrying after.

They went straight for several blocks. The blue-collar part of town the Winchesters were staying in gave way to seedy, dilapidated streets with furtive drug deals and women who'd seen better days huddled under the few awnings. Sam had been reckless to head this way, but then Dean wasn't exactly Mr. Rational, either, when his brother got on his nerves. They were closer than most siblings he knew, but they were still siblings: competitive, squabbling, and knowing how to mash each other's buttons better than anyone on earth. He could understand the impulsive reaction, even if he was going to chew Sam out about it. After making sure he was okay.

The dog barked again, then veered left into the mouth of an alley. Dean didn't hesitate to follow.

He almost tripped over Sam.

It would've been a long time before anyone would've found his brother. Sam was just past the alley's entrance, but his body was curled into the deepening shadows, half in a grimy puddle. The only thing Dean saw clearly in the dimness was the chalk-pale face, eyes closed and scraped chin a bloodless pink.

"Sam," he stuttered, momentarily stunned speechless as he sank to his knees on the wet ground. He hadn't honestly thought... Sam was supposed to be holed up somewhere warm and safe being a sanctimonious little jerk. He wasn't... Dean hadn't thought...

Dean flinched as the dog barked.

"Yeah, I see him," he murmured, skimming Sam's soaked hair. "Sam? Hey. Sammy."

Sam opened his eyes too sluggishly for comfort, but the fact he was responsive at all made Dean take a deep breath of relief. Even better when Sam squinted at him and husked, "S'abou'time."

Dean shook his head, mouth tugging up. He should probably be exasperated, but it made him stupidly glad that even after the way they'd parted, Sam had still expected him to follow. "Would've come faster if you'd left a forwarding address." His hands moved more surely over his brother: heartbeat fast but strong. Skin chilled and shivering. "Or, you know, not stormed out like you were PMS-ing." The right shoulder was clearly popped, but he couldn't feel any breaks. "Where're you hurt?"

He got his answer the next moment as his hand skimmed Sam's hip and Sam stiffened, groaning.

"Crap. What the hell happened?"

Sam was breathing through his nose, jaw and eyes clenched tight.

Dean shoved wet hair out of his eyes, left his hand there to shield him from the rain. "Sam, you with me? Hey. Look at me."

Sam's pupils were good, but his gaze was hazy at best. "Shoulder 'n...hip. Gang. Too many—" He bit off a groan with a quiet curse. "Stupid."

Yeah, both of them had been, but that wasn't the point now. Dean tapped Sam's back gently. "You think you can get up if I help?"

Sam grimaced. "...t'the car?" he whispered hopefully, peering past Dean.

Dean's heart sank. Yeah, that would make more sense. Walking back several blocks to the motel on a bad hip wasn't gonna happen, and even if he could carry Sam that far, he'd be taking a chance on screwing him up even more. Sam would need to go to the hospital by car anyway. Plus hoofing it would take too long, and it looked like Sam was on the verge of shock and hypothermia as it was.

Belatedly, Dean realized he still had Sam's jacket clamped under his arm. He pulled it out, tucked it around the kid. Then added his own jacket. "You safe here? You think they'll be back?" He'd glanced around before and looked again now, checking automatically for threats, but no one was in sight.

"Think so." Sam had to pant the words, face twisted at a wave of pain. "Ran'way."

Dean nodded to himself and whistled at the dog, not missing how it made Sam jolt.

Whining, the dog nudged against him, then Sam.

"Okay, Rin-Tin-Tin," Dean said reluctantly, "you stay here with Sam, okay? Keep an eye on him and keep him warm until I get back."

The dog immediately settled in against Sam's side, nose bumping up under his chin.

Sam frowned, giving the dog, then Dean a blurry look. "S'rously?"

"I need to get the car, Sam. I'll be back in a few minutes, okay? You stay here and wait for me." He patted Sam's chest, got ready to stand.

Sam's hand darted out, stiff with cold and almost spasming in its grip on Dean's sleeve. "Hey. Jus'...I w-was comin' back..."

He stared hard at Sam. With his hair all plastered like that, his eyes huge and liquidy, he looked about ten. But he wasn't. He was an adult, with adult issues and choices and rights. Which meant the right to leave.

But Dean would always be the big brother, with just as much right to come after him. And it looked like Sam still needed him, too.

"I know," he said simply, giving Sam's cold hand a quick rub. Then he gently disengaged it, burying the cold fingers in the mutt's fur. And with a last look, he took off down the street, to the car and the rescue.

00000

Dean left him. On the ground, in the rain. With a dog.

"'some," Sam chattered, fighting the pull of sleep on his battered body. The struggle seemed to drain from his body along with the heat. He huffed a breath, then, reluctantly, lifted his good arm to wrap around the dog. Soggy or not, her body was still warm, and his wasn't.

The dog compliantly shuffled closer to him, whining softly when he hissed at an especially painful movement. She put her head down on her paws just inches from Sam's face and watched him mournfully.

"Yeah, he boss-sses me...'round like that t-too," he whispered, eyes closing. And yet it had sounded like the best thing ever when Dean arrived and took charge. So much for being weak and Sam looking after him this time.

The dog growled.

"S'okay," Sam whispered, weary. "He means—"

She pulled away from him just as he heard the jeering voice.

"Look, now he's got a guard dog," the dog said.

Sam's sluggish mind took a minute to figure that out. It wasn't the dog talking; the Crips-wannabes were back. Terrific. He should've asked Dean to leave him a gun.

The dog actually was doing a pretty good imitation of a guard dog, stance set as she stood in front of Sam and kept up a low rumble of warning. Reminded Sam of Dean a time or two. He tried to grab a handful of her fur to pull her back, but she wasn't having it, starting to bark in earnest.

"Ignore it and roll 'im. No one came by now, they're not goin' to."

 _You're wrong,_ Sam wanted to say. _My brother always comes._ The hypocrisy of the thought made him snort a laugh.

And then he saw the flash of metal and realized with sudden clarity what was about to happen.

"No!" he lunged forward, grabbing at the dog as she snarled and leaped, pulling her back. The gun went off the same moment as the starburst of pain behind his eyes.

Sam fell back, groaning with every breath, listening disconnectedly to another gunshot, then yelling and scuffling. The dog was safe, anyway, lying by his side. Faithful Dean, always protecting him, whether he wanted it or not. He did, though, Sam did; he didn't know how to be the protector. He always messed things up. Couldn't even save Dean from Hell—

"You did save me, man. What else was I gonna come back for but to look after your scrawny ass."

"'en," he muttered. "'re gonna...dog..." He choked back a cry as he was lifted, his hip jostled.

"Sorry, sorry," Dean was muttering. "Easy... Sammy...outta here...fixed..."

He pushed his face into his brother's warm neck. He was gonna...he was...dog...

And then he was being set down, and Sam didn't have time to shout before the pain washed him away.

00000

It was a lousy day when your brother passing out was a good thing.

Dean was careful with him anyway, piling the blankets from the trunk over him, making sure his bad side was braced by the back of the seat before he carefully shut the rear door. At least Sam would feel no pain on the way to the hospital.

Dean breathed out slow, then turned to look at the dog.

She was dead; he'd known it the moment he'd pulled up to see a stocky guy in bike leathers aim a gun at Sam and put a bullet in the mutt's head instead. She'd been protecting Sam when she went down, a tooth-and-snarl wall between his downed brother and the bad guys, and for that she would always be a hero in his book.

He knelt by the body, giving the wet head a stroke. "Good girl," he said softly. "You did good." He'd saved one blanket for her, and wrapped the body in it, uncaring about the blood. They took care of their own. "Gonna take care of you, too." She went gently on the front seat, in the place of her fellow long-haired passenger. Just this once; she deserved it. He gave her a last pat before closing the door.

He should've left Sam his gun, Dean thought darkly as he went to the two remaining bodies in the alley. One was faintly groaning still, nose and arm broken. The other one had a bullet wound below the ribs. He was breathing, wouldn't be for long if help didn't come. Dean felt no regret, long past the point of wondering how far he'd go for those he loved. The dude had tried to kill Sam, had killed his protector, probably was the one to put him down in the first place. It hadn't been a time for hesitation or mercy. A cursory check of their pockets revealed they hadn't gotten to stripping any of Sam's stuff yet, which was all that saved the groaner a kick in the gut. Dean did take their cash and an awesome Bowie knife but left the gun.

Then he was back in the Impala, hightailing it to the local hospital in a totally silent car.

He glanced frequently into the mirror, checking on Sam, who remained pliant and unconscious. Considering he'd been groaning softly on every breath as Dean carried him to the car, Dean was grateful for that. He checked less frequently on the bundle beside him, regretting he hadn't been kinder to her earlier when it would've mattered. He'd all but pushed her away, but she'd been loyal to Dean anyway and protected Sam. Dean shook his head. Selfishness and anger he got; self-sacrifice from others still baffled him. Especially when it got you killed. Or when you were doing the wrong things for the right reason.

He sighed, looked back at Sam again.

"This doesn't mean I'm okay with you and Ruby," he announced to his brother.

Sam remained oblivious.

"So what else is new," Dean mumbled to himself. Then called 9-1-1 for those creeps in the alley, because Sam would want him to.

00000

Lilith, eyes glowing white in Ruby's face, opened the door and whistled to the hellhound. "Sic 'em, boy."

Sam pulled himself away from the wall and jumped between the monster and his brother, hands out. "NO!"

Lilith's smile disappeared, a sneer giving way to confusion, then fear as the hellhound obeyed. "That's not—"

With a cold smile of his own, Sam clenched one hand into a fist, and her words gurgled into nothing.

The hellhound whimpered.

" _Easy, that's your bad side."_

Sam frowned, uncomprehending, even as Lilith went to her knees, choking up black smoke.

There was another whine. Then hands were turning him carefully, away from Lilith, to—

Sam's eyes struggled to open, bringing his blurry brother into focus. But Dean wasn't panicked and spread-eagled on a table, or torn to ribbons. He was smiling wanly at Sam, crouched beside his...

Bed. Sam whistled out a breath, sagging back into the mattress. Hospital. Right, taken down by a bunch of street punks. Awesome.

"You rolled onto your hip," Dean was explaining. Sam realized vaguely he was still being turned, Dean slipping pillows behind his back, under his bent knee and sling. "Sounded like a good dream until then."

"Yeah," Sam said on a sigh. He rubbed his gritty eyes and took in the dim room. "What time'zit?"

"Late. Still Tuesday."

The meds were fogging up his brain, but he knew that meant he was on his second night there. He'd slept most of the time, yet it managed to feel long. He was mostly bedridden: his hip, while not broken or dislocated, was bruised to the bone and didn't take well to pressure or movement. The reduced dislocation and other bruises barely registered in comparison. The doctor said it would be at least a week before Sam would be up and shuffling around.

"You want something to eat? It's been a while."

He rolled his head back and forth on the pillow. "Maybe later. Soup?"

"You got it. Here, drink this."

Sam obediently drank from the squeeze bottle, nose wrinkling at the taste. The meds left a chemical tang in his mouth, but the way his hip was throbbing, he wasn't about to protest. Besides, the liquid felt good on his dry throat.

Sam sighed as he settled back into the pillow, and looked his brother over again. He realized belatedly Dean had his jacket on and his keys in his hand.

"Goin' out?"

"Yeah, uh." Dean's eyes darted away from Sam. "You were sleeping pretty well there so thought I'd finally take care of, you know, while it's still dark."

He didn't know for a moment, then Dean's gravity registered. "Oh. Yeah." He was pretty sure Dean had had to tell him more than once that the dog was dead, but Sam remembered now. And felt the sorrow that was reflected in his brother's face. She'd died defending him, barely knowing him. "Okay. Where...?"

"There's a cemetery down the road—thought they wouldn't mind if I borrowed some space under a tree. What's one more body, right?" Dean shifted, looking uncomfortable.

Sam's mouth ticked sympathetically. "Gonna be weird, burying a body 'stead of digging one up."

Dean exhaled an equally unamused laugh. "Yeah. You need anything before I go?"

"No. Jus..." man, his tongue felt like rubber, "wake me when you get back, okay?" Dean would think it was because Sam rested better when he was there—which, okay, he kinda did, so sue him—but Sam also had some idea of what his brother's frame of mind would be after he did his duty, and Sam didn't want him to stew on that alone. Sam probably wouldn't be able to stay up for a whole movie, and he definitely couldn't share some beers yet. But he could hang out with Dean a little, eat some soup and talk about cartoons or the best rock songs or something, and remind Dean he wasn't in it alone. He could look after his brother that much at least.

"Sure. Maybe we can spring ya in the morning. But meantime, I'll bring soup."

"Ginger-carrot," Sam said drowsily, eyes sliding shut whether he wanted them to or not.

"Girl," he heard Dean say fondly before he succumbed to sleep.

00000

"You sure about this?" Dean asked, for the second time because he wasn't crazy about the first answer.

"I'm fine," Sam repeated, nonetheless accepting Dean's hand out of the car. He hissed in discomfort but seemed steady enough on his feet, especially when Dean jammed the cane into his good hand. "Doc said I need exercise."

"Not sure this was what he had in mind," Dean mumbled. He pulled a bottle out of his pocket and waved it at Sam. "How about some water and awesome little blue pills first?"

Sam turned his face to him, brows climbing.

Dean flushed. "Not _that_ kind of little blue pill."

"I wouldn't wanna use up yours," Sam said dryly.

"Dude, I don't need—!" Dean abruptly realized Sam was just being an ass, and growled a "screw you" as he jammed the bottle back into his pocket.

"Not if you run out of—"

"You finish that sentence, and I'm leaving you here on your own," Dean snapped.

Sam grinned at him, and Dean couldn't resist grinning back, albeit with a shake of the head. It had been a long week since Sam had been jumped, even with them staying in a Best Western with good beds and a pool that wasn't disgusting and a freakin' awesome continental breakfast Dean raided every morning. Sam soaked in the pool every day, slept half the time, and complained about Dean's taste in food, TV shows, and reading material the rest. But he'd already ditched the sling, and he could beat a turtle now in a foot race with that smokin' cane. And he'd been Ruby-free for the whole week. Dean was looking at the bright side of this one.

They made their way slowly through the graveyard, Dean steering them around tombstones and roots and one particularly vicious flower arrangement.

The grave they ended up at wasn't marked. Dean had packed the dirt down as best as he'd been able and moved back onto it a few clods of grass that looked like maybe they'd take root. In all it was an inconspicuous resting place, less than she deserved, the most they could manage. But they knew.

Sam stood contemplatively. He was the one who'd insisted on making this his first outing, and even though Dean had grumbled about it, he understood why. He'd already had his chance to thank the loyal, stupid mutt.

"It's weird," Sam said quietly. "How many graves do we see every year? And it's a dog's that gets to me." He looked sideways at Dean. "I mean, something's wrong with that, isn't it?"

Dean dug his hands into his jacket pockets. "Well, we _knew_ the dog. Sorta. Not like we met most of the folks we dig up, unless you count their ghosts chuckin' stuff at us."

"Yeah, I guess." Sam still sounded troubled.

Privately, Dean was kinda glad to hear it. He'd feared for a while after his return that some part of Sam had died with his big brother, a part that wasn't coming back when Dean did. Choosing Ruby, the powers, revenge at all costs... Truth be told, Dean had feared more for Sam going darkside those last few months than he ever had when Yellow-Eyes was around.

But if Sam still mourned for a dog—and, the big sap, felt _bad_ he was mourning for a dog—he was still the kid Dean had raised. The one Dean hoped wouldn't make the same mistakes he had.

Dean licked his lips. "So, you gonna say something?"

Sam frowned at him. "Like what?"

"I don't know—'rest in peace'? 'I am, and always shall be, your friend'?"

"I'm not gonna quote Star Trek!"

"I don't know any dog movies!"

"You cried through the end of _Old Yeller_ ," Sam pointed out.

" _Dad_ cried at the end of _Old Yeller,_ " Dean shot back.

Sam waved the cane dismissively at him. "Whatever." Then nodding to the grave, he murmured, "Thanks, girl," and turned stiffly away.

Dean frowned at him, dropping a hand on his shoulder. "Okay, gimpy, let's get you back to bed."

"Dude, I'm not eight."

"No, more like eighty, the way you're moving."

Sam grumbled back something Dean was pretty sure he didn't want to hear. But the arm he wrapped around Sam's waist wasn't refused.

They limped away even slower than they'd come. Dean wasn't in a hurry. After a year of counting final days and a stint in Hell that seemed eternal, they could finally breathe a little, just enjoy being together again.

Dean looked back over his shoulder at the anonymous grave. "'Crazy, wonderful dog,'" he whispered.

"What?" Sam asked, focused on his feet.

"I said," Dean turned back to him, "you wanna go for a jog?"

"I hate you," Sam muttered, leaning a little harder into him. "Jerk."

"Yeah." Dean smiled at him, slammed yet again by the love he had for this kid who maybe took off on him sometimes but never gave up on him. "Me, too." His smile widened a little. "Bitch."

 **The End**


End file.
